


Harry Potter and the Sorcerous Staff

by YGurts



Series: The Grand Harry Potter Saga [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 01:47:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14534019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YGurts/pseuds/YGurts
Summary: What if Harry Potter had the true might of magic from the very start of his grand and endless adventures





	1. The First Chapter

HARRY POTTER and the Sorcerous Staff

Chapter 1  
It was a late, dark night in sleepy London Town, in a neighborhood where everyone went to bed before the hour of watershed. The streets were dark and sleepy in the late hour, the morning milk lorry far away yet with its daily rounds. The night was moonless and dark with the faint, humming electrical lights of the light posts humming sleepily in the dark. No one was around. A lonely setting, but also an important one.  
For far in the dark a powerful and magical old man stood in his bent hat and crooked robes, banishing the lights one at a time with powerful incantations from his wrinkled old hands. When it was dark and lightless, his business could begin. He alighted from his magical motorcycle and strode down the street with a powerful importance and came to a stop outside an unassuming house. This is the one he thought to himself, nodding in confirmation.  
At the doorstep he bent and left a basket, within which was a child. A mere infant. A baby still fresh and new to the world just as he was old and decrepit in turn. Upon the baby was a sealed letter in an envelope, tucked just so above the blanket. With a wave the magical man made this letter unravel through time until it had been vanished entirely.  
Yes he thought with certainty, No one must ever know.

In the wee hours of the morning the door opened and out stepped a woman, Petunia Dursley. She noticed the basket on the stoop and bent over for it, lifting the infant and eyeing him speculatively. The baby met her eyes calmly, staring at her over his glasses. This was no ordinary infant. Those eyes she thought, meeting his gaze. This baby was calm, calmer than any baby should be, with an assurance that belied the exactly one amount of years it had been living. Something isn't right she thought to herself as she hefted the wee babe; the baby had surprising heft for such a small infant.  
And then she looked down, and her world had changed forever.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
“That boy is a freak” thundered Vernon Dursley, sitting at the breakfast table and harummphing through his ham. “And he'll bring no good to this household! Not while he's fucking my wife!”  
Indeed upstairs at that very moment, Aunt Petunia was on her hands and knees, the bed rumpled and nearly soaked with sweat. Each morning had become ritualistic in it's constancy – each morning she awoke with formless, nameless need, hurrying Vernon down to breakfast so that she could await Harry's awakening from slumber, and her awakening as a true woman. His penis thrust deeply inside of her as she clawed at the sheets underneath, screaming his name with the passion of the baptized greeting their awesome god. Harry finished his thrusts by claiming Petunia's cervix, usurping her own son in leaving lasting memories of what it means to have her womb filled and fulfilled.  
I am eleven now, thought Harry.  
Since coming to the Dursley household, Harry had left a lasting impression. From the first moment Petunia saw his enormous cock dangling from his infant body there were changes, expecting waiting for him to fulfill his role as true lord of the demense. It was slow going, the needs of Harry's body holding him back. For the first eight years of his life there was even despair that perhaps he would never live up to his potential, his school teachers and classmates believing him to be mentally limited. This was not the case.  
For once he was old enough to have sufficient blood for his brain and his penis, there was a remarkable change. Being able to command his penis set him apart instantly, recognized by classmates, teachers, and neighbors alike. The towering length was not something to be denied, to be ignored. In going to the zoo for his birthday he was acknowledged by those in touch with their primal instincts, the beasts of the field and the wilds, recognizing one of the natural world. Recognizing his command.  
Chapter 3 – An Unexpected Missive  
As the family vacationed in a remote shack, where Vernon and Dudley Dursley could be ignored down on the lower floor, lost amidst the ashes and cinders of the fireplace, Harry and Petunia communed as man and woman must. Petunia arched her back, her breasts glistening with feverish sweat as her mind lost itself in the ache of continuous satisfaction feeding into growing need. Harry's young cock savaged her pussy, driving away rational thought, his pounding ceaseless as he held his Hogwarts Letter in her face as confirmation that he was a lord apart.  
It had arrived inauspiciously, the thick, solid white vellum pounding open the mail slot and landing with a heavy slam on the hallway floor. Dudley brought it in the accepted posture, head down and his back bent to Harry, whereupon he read it. He realized then that he was a wizard.  
But as he finished within his Aunt and resurrected her hopes of desire, there was a booming noise from below. He strode down the stairs patiently, the sussurant shifting of air displaced by the sliding of his penis claiming more authority over the aural waves than the hammering of giants at the doors of creation.  
“You may enter,” stated Harry, whereupon the door burst open to reveal Hagrid, a giant of a man standing tall.  
He nodded to Harry, “Aye, ye have grown proud, turgid,” said Hagrid.  
“Yes,” said Harry. “Someday the women of your giant tribes shall take my comfort.”  
Hagrid nodded proudly. But that must be shelved. He had work to do, “It is time to prepare for school,” said Hagrid.  
Harry and Hagrid left on a boat, sailing on the storm tossed seas as the new sun broke through the clouds above, while Aunt Petunia watched from the sole window of the vacation shack with longing, the scent of cordite from Vernon Dursley eliminating himself with a shotgun incomparably weak, pathetic, compared to the fecund scent of Harry's potent, seemingly endless seed that oozed down her thighs in heavenly excess.  
“Mr. Potter, as I live and breathe,” cried a bald man of sinister but lively presence.  
“Daedrid Diggle, you son of a bitch.” Young Harry shook the man's hand as they met inside the magical tavern Hagrid brought him to, slapping the older man's shoulder with instant camraderie. “I remember you.”  
“My wife remembers you still, her in her grave these years. You blessed her.” cried Diggle.  
“No, she blessed me, as all women do as they receive the bounty.” Harry smiled fondly in remembrances of the woman, left crippled by Death Eater attacks but made whole again as he took her, again and again with no heed for fatigue. Her mature, rounded bottom had not suffered from the paralyzation that left her insensate from the waist down; she felt whole again, the soul of man and wife rekindled as Diggle watched his wife receiving pleasure once more. A full bodied pleasure, enjoyed in the diaphragm and lungs from the sensations of deep, pleasureable sex.  
“Ah, I must not keep you,” cried Diggle, “You must have much to do to prepare.”  
“Yes,” said Harry, as Hagrid and he left to Diagon Alley from the tavern.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 4  
Diagon Alley was a magical place, Hagrid trembling as he interrupted the arrival of Harry Potter. “Beggin' your forgiveness, 'Arry. Business to do, sorry,” he said.  
“Let us be on it then” said Harry adventurously.  
And so they arrived at Gringotts, the goblins of Gringotts bowing at his entrance, their bald pates touching the great and grand floors of power and wealth. Here was one that was beyond their fell power, elevated past material wealth. Money is but an abstraction, meant to represent meaning and power. And here was Harry, upon whom could be made no demands that he could not fulfill. He nodded to the goblins, his meaning conveyed as he passed on with Hagrid to the important wizard business. Harry's true nobility was apparent in his preference for round and full asses of which goblin maidens boasted many of the finest, his promise to the Gringotts goblins that when pettifogging Hogwarts business was finally concluded he would return to them, turgid.  
The powerful stone within Gringotts that was the goal of Hagrid was obtained, leaving the giant man to fulfill Harry's powerful destiny within Gringotts Alley. They procured robes, fitting and glamorous for his magical mien, even the flowing, sorcerous black robes paying heed and homage to the massive member that slumbered – never fully, always prepared as was his duty for bearing true pleasure – within his pants. There were great beasts tamed and recognizing his majesty, among which was a great owl. And lastly there was the matter of wands.  
Olivia Vander was a great wandsmith and last of the elven queens, her silver eyes alight with merriment and delight as young Potter strode purposefully into her store. She measured him, taking his true dimensions in mind to find the one wand that would suit him. It was a long and arduous process, her hope building as one wand after the next was tried and found wanting, for the sticks were crude simulacrums of what power meant, how it was channelled.  
How it was shared.  
He took her fiercely, impatient, his need showing strongly even before she spread willingly for him. The soft, wet folds of her womanhood were spread in an instant, this lady, this maiden of centuries finding fulfillment in a boy not yet come to his full power. But it was almost too much for her as she lay back and received thrust after thrust, the cries of her delight echoing through history, crawling afterwards as she went to the deepest parts of her store to gift him with the greatest of wands.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 5  
As their shopping was done and it was time to journey to Hogwarts. Hagrid left Harry knowing that there was no man that could bar his way, for he had a train to catch.  
As he went his way through the station, winding and wending through the crowds of busy London Town, he came to find the station his train was departing from. The Platform of Destiny, away from sightless muggle eyes, was awaiting him. Awaiting him also was a family, one of singular appearance in their flaming red hair, creamy pale skin and abundant freckles, touched thickly by the eroticism of the Eire from the great, bosomly matriarch who became known to him as Molly, to the young and immature, but hungry and capable Ginevra that would only open her treasure to him in time. Her spirit flamed brightly, recognizing the majesty of Harry as he approached, her heart stopping with each step of his feet trodding the ground and coming alive again with the counterbeat of his enormous young cock sliding impatiently, waiting inside of his trouser leg like the ancestor of all panthers stalking the primeval jungle.  
As Harry emptied his magnificent nuts inside of Molly for the third time, her tired, aching pants stirring ancient memories of forgotten mysticism in the oblivious Muggle crowds, there was joy in the hearts of Clan Weasley once more, knowing their mother was finding fulfillment after a succession of large headed children. None of their brainpans could do what Harry had done, his rigid, enormous penis entering Molly's mature pussy, shaking the excess weight that adorned her hips with the important, regal majesty of a queen's many petticoats, the soft flesh rippling more smoothly than the finest silk with each conquering thrust.  
“Come,” said Fred, “We will bear you to your train.”  
“Yes,” said George, who was like Fred in many ways, among them his admiration and love for young Potter, “Your journey will be long.”  
“We will ease it,” said Fred.  
As Harry nodded his agreement he was wiped clean by Ginevra, her worship of his potent prepubescent erection tempered by filial duty, her cum sodden hands turned palm up to her mother Molly so that the elder Weasley might sup and regain her wearied strength.


End file.
